


Off the Map, On a Mountain

by RyeBread



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Arguing, Frostbite, Gen, Hypothermia, M/M, caught in a blizzard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 10:37:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17827028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyeBread/pseuds/RyeBread
Summary: Fjord and Caleb are caught out on a mountain top, not far from camp, but far enough. With no visibility, the temperature dropping, and snow piling up, they have to come to a decision.





	Off the Map, On a Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> I based this on a loose recollection of William Mastrosimone’s play, “The Precipice.” I read it almost ten years ago and it has stuck with me since.

Fjord has been cold before, he's been cold, and lost, and miserable. He has even been all three at once. It has never once been pleasant to be those things. This evening is, unsurprisingly, not an exception.

"Caleb, we're lost." Fjord can hear the defeat in his voice, too exhausted to care that he's being sharp.

Pulling his scarf down from his face, Caleb squares his shoulders and glares at him. "You are lost," he corrects. "I know where we are, and how to get back. It is just another hour."

"You said that an hour ago," Fjord grouses, flexing his fingers to get some feeling back.

"Forty minutes ago," Caleb snaps, "which was before the snow and fog rolled in. You will forgive my estimates being thrown off by the acts of nature."

Caleb's bundled in his coat, scarf wrapped around his head twice. What bits of his face are visible are scarlet from the cold, his nose running unabated. Fjord grits his teeth to stem his temper. "Caduceus didn't warn us about this either. What happened to that fucked up, weather predicting knee of his?"

"We can ask him when we reach camp," Caleb says, pulling the scarf back around his face.

Fjord rolls his eyes, which feel gummy in the sockets from the cold. He misses the coast. The wind kicks up again, not enough to disperse the damned fog--of course--but enough the cut through his heavy cloak and straight to the bone. He'd take drowning over freezing. Drowning gave him a fighting chance, gave him something to fight against no matter how insurmountable it looked. He could kick against the waves, swim for shore. This is torture. Icy knives digging into him, each breath another step toward freezing. He can't help asking, "You're sure this is the right way?"

"Didn't you ask me if I would be your navigator?" Caleb counters. "Allow me, please, to navigate now."

"I feel like we're walking in circles, Caleb. Can't you just do a, y'know," Fjord mimes forming a sphere with his cupped hands. "We'll rest for the night and keep going in the morning."

"We're only an hour away," Caleb insists, shaking snow from his hair and shoulders. "If I made a shelter for the night, we could be buried under three feet of snow in as many hours up here. We have to keep moving."

Fjord sighs, but follows as Caleb leads them further down the mountain as the show gets heavier. Soon they're trudging through three inches of snow, four inches. Five. Caleb stops, twenty minutes later, staring into the fog and shivering. Fjord puts a hand on his shoulder, startling him. "Sorry, you just seemed, uh..."

"We're not lost!" Caleb protests, loudly enough that he seems surprised by his own vehemence. "We are not," he says, more measured.

"I didn't say we were, but I can't see a thing and it's gotten real dark."

"We need to take a short-cut," Caleb says, closing his eyes in concentration. Four globules of light pop into existence, lending their strange luminescence to the scene. In Fjord's opinion, it doesn't really do much, but it took Caleb's mind off the snow and the mountain for a couple seconds, so it was good for something, Fjord supposes. At least some of the tension is gone from Caleb's face on their arrival. "Straight ahead there is a small cliff that drops thirty feet down. From there is it only one more mile to our camp. With the snow falling lighter down there, and moving to the leeward side of the mountain, we will get there in twenty more minutes if we hurry our pace."

Fjord looks out into the fog, but his sight fails after just a dozen feet. "Caleb, I know you're g-gonna scream at me, but you want us to jump off a cliff?"

"I am not screaming, Fjord, but it is the only way. If we do not get d-down from here quickly, we are going to die."

Fjord sighs, the puff of air mingling with the blue tinted air. "We c-could make shelter here, Caleb, wait for the f-fog to clear in the morning. Dig ourselves out if we h-have to, but we can't just go walking off a f-fucking cliff."

"I have Feather Fall," Caleb says, looking into the fog, head high.

Fjord holds his shoulder as he starts to walk into it. "Caleb, what if this isn't the right ledge?" he asks, barely intelligible through the chattering.

"It is," Caleb says, his shivering mostly under control. More controlled than Fjord's. "I have that map memorized. This is the place. Ten feet forward, we jump. I will cast Feather Fall and we will land in the snowbanks below and walk to camp."

"Unless it's the wrong damn cliff, then you cast Feather Fall and we drift gently down into the abyss."

"Fine," Caleb says, breaking away from Fjord's grip. "I will go alone, I will use Expeditious Retreat to get to camp in half the time, and collect the group to come rescue you. It will take three times as long, and you may well die of exposure in the mean time, but you won't have to take any unnecessary risks."

"We're in this together, Caleb," Fjord insists, once again lunging to get ahold of Caleb's arm. "Just be reasonable!"

"Reasonable?" Caleb splutters, "You want reason? I always know my way, I could tell you the time to the minute right this second; I remember the map, but your instincts are going to guide us now? Where were those instincts in Darktow, on Urukaxl?"

"That's not fair," Fjord snaps, though the guilt and uncertainty digs into his gut sharper than the cold.

"Not fair?" Caleb asks, mustering his coat and scarf about himself like a bird fluffing its plumage. "What isn't fair is your choice to assert authority when it is convenient. If not for Jester and Beauregard, we would have all died in Darktow. If not for Nott, we would have died on Urukaxl. All you did was get us there, for you, for your search for power. Are you going to tell me, now, that you want to take charge?"

Fjord quells under Caleb's tirade, feeling more and more like he's sinking. He looks down at his feet, covered completely by the snow that has piled up significantly. "I'm sorry," he stammers. "I'm sorry, but-"

"But what, Fjord? We are going to die if we do not keep moving."

"Caleb, have you- have you never been so sure of something before? Have you never been so certain you were doing the right thing and then it turned out you were wrong?"

Caleb takes half a step away, hands clenched at his sides. "I'm- This is the right way to go," he says, taking another step toward the dark fog.

"Caleb, please," Fjord says, "we can wait the storm out. We can make shelter and check it out in the morning. I'll go with you."

"I'm..." Caleb falters, looking out into the darkness. He looks back at Fjord, the eerie light of his spell flickering through the heavily falling snow. "I remember the map."

Fjord stands stiffly in place, recognizing the underlying uncertainty in Caleb's tone. "Then go, Caleb. I'll wait here, dig out a hole in the snow like Yasha was talking about. It'll be fine."

Caleb starts to turn away, then reaches into his pocket. The stone he carries with him emerges, held ceremoniously before Caleb offers it to Fjord, "Take it, you'll need it more than I will."

"Caleb," Fjord starts, "I don't-"

"You do," Caleb insists, trying to force it into his hand. "Just don't swallow this one."

"I'm not going to- You're not listening to me," Fjord says, but reluctantly accepts the rock. Near instantly he feels a bit more inured to the cold. Caleb immediately goes almost blue.

"There have been studies on the effects of cold," Caleb says, teeth beginning to chatter harder than they were before. "When this storm hits its peak, we will have half an hour in the cold before our extremities begin to fall off. If I cannot reach Jester or Caduceus in time, they will stay off. Fjord, we do not have time to debate this!"

"So go!" Fjord startles himself with the frustrated anger. "Run, then, don't let me stop you. Leap off the fucking cliff, for all I care. You're so damn certain it's the right one."

Caleb's face crumples, and Fjord looks away. Caleb steps toward him, closing the distance to grab him by the shoulders. "Fjord, I have to..."

"So do it," Fjord mumbles, his ears gone numb at the tips, his lips chapped.

"I need to, but I... Fjord I can't," Caleb says, shaking. "I can't, I can't, I can't. I don't know any more, and I can't make that jump."

Fjord pulls him in, despite having no real heat left to share, and just murmurs, "It'll be alright," despite his increasing worry that it very much won't be.

"I can't feel my fingers," Caleb mumbles, shivering into Fjord's chest. "I don't know if I can make the dome like this."

"Let me help you," Fjord says, as gently as he can manage. "Here." He's not certain it will work, the exact limitations of his command over water not yet tested, but he tries it out anyway and beseeches Uk'Otoa. _I can't grow if I freeze to death_ , he thinks. There's a pull, like his first tidal yank on the ocean after emerging from the drowned temple. It does nothing. _Come on, you fucking snake. What kind of god can't push a little snow around!_

 

The snow ceases to fall, for a moment time stands still and the roar of the wind and the blood rushing in his ears dulls as the word, _Provoke_ rattles through Fjord's skull. It's not a command; this time it sounds almost amused. The snow falls again, speeding up briefly before resuming the inexorable cascade of flakes. This time when Fjord pulls on the water, the snowbank shifts as a squirming mass, clearing a rough circle on the rocky ground and arcing up into a stiff wall against the ever increasing winds. Caleb kneels in the clearing, hands shaking as he begins to trace out the runes with his fingers, his voice quaking. Fjord shakes the snow off his cloak, unbuttons it, and throws it around Caleb’s shoulders. Caleb looks up, startled, “Fjord, you can’t- the cold!”

“You need to get the words right, plus I have your lucky rock, don’t I?” Fjord fights off another full-body shiver. His fingers are pale, his shoulder goes numb from where it’s exposed. “Focus, Caleb.”

He nods, face still pinched in worry and concentration. Fjord hunches over his knees, sitting on the frozen ground. He can feel the ground leaching the heat out of him through his ass and legs, but if he has to stand another minute, he’ll fall right into the snow. He tries counting the seconds, tries thinking warm thoughts. It doesn’t help. Caleb alternates hands to trace the sigils on the ground, tucking the hand he isn’t using into the cloak for a couple seconds before swapping them out. Fjord pulls himself into as tight a ball as he can manage, as close to the wall of snow as he dares to stay clear of the wind. Flakes fall onto his cheeks, melting into rivulets. He breathes slowly, fighting the pain, watching Caleb. His eyes are heavy and gummy, but soon he isn’t shaking so much. Not shaking at all. The snow on his cheeks and nose isn’t melting, just piling on in little drifts. Caleb is still shambling along the ground, still mumbling. Fjord closes his eyes.

“Fjord!” That’s his name, though maybe it wasn’t always his name. Names are funny like that. He laughs, but no noise comes out, and opening his eyes is a production. At least it’s not cold. “Fjord!”

“‘S m’name,” he manages, peeling open one eye. Caleb’s face is very near to his own. His big blue eyes take up most of his face at this distance. “Cay?”

“Fjord,” Caleb says again, this time relieved. “You’re awake.”

“Think so,” Fjord says, trying to stretch, but his limbs are heavy and he’s very tired. “What happen?”

Caleb starts untying the cords that hold his bracers up, loosening the straps of his armor. Fjord notices Caleb is bare-chested. Caleb pulls at the bottom of Fjord’s gloves, sliding the bracers off and rubbing his arm down as he goes. “I finished the hut,” he says, and his fingers are still cold, icy pinpricks against Fjord’s skin. “You... fell asleep.”

“Tired,” Fjord says, flopping onto his side, one arm bare, the other tucked under him. 

“I know,” Caleb says, rolling him onto his back to get at the other bracer. “But you are wet. The warmth of this room won’t protect you from that,” Caleb says, but it’s very soft, like he’s not really talking to anyone in particular. “Fjord I am very sorry, but I need to get you out of these clothes.”

Fjord laughs, more of a series of sighs, “You could just ask if you want me to get naked.”

Caleb succeeds in removing the other bracer and grunts, straining to pull Fjord into a sitting position. He rests his forehead against Caleb’s shoulder as he unbuckles the straps down his side and around his waist. It takes a moment, which Fjord passes by breathing slowly, taking in the smell of Caleb’s skin. Caleb struggles with the leather, “I believe. Jester. Has asked you a few times.”

“She’s not you,” Fjord mutters, sighing in relief as the chestpiece and pauldrons slide off and onto the floor. His snow and sweat drenched shirt is next, up and over his head, though Caleb has to lift his arms one at a time to manage it. “Why’re you doing this now?”

“You are delirious, wet, and freezing to death. If I can’t get you sane, dry, and warm soon, all the healing in the world won’t matter. So please, keep it together.”

Fjord nods soberly, then falls into giggles again when Caleb unknots the sash at his waist, “That’s lewd, Caleb.”

“Fjord,” Caleb pleads, “focus.”

Fjord fights the desire to lay down on the ground, not just because it’s pointy and uncomfortable, but because Caleb’s asking for his help. He hooks his ankle against the sole of his other boot and manages to get it most of the way off before following suit with the other as Caleb works on his belt and pants. He’d be embarrassed if this weren’t so funny. “‘M cold,” he says, half laughing and half shivering.

“Oh thank the gods,” Caleb says when he sees Fjord shaking. “Just lay down on my coat.”

The oversized, fur-lined jacket lays on the ground, Caleb’s spellbooks set on the ground carefully beside it. Fjord blinks as he notices the pillar of flame roaring near the edge of the dome. “How’d you do that?”

“Unconventional use of complicated magic,” Caleb says, laying the armor pieces beside the miniature inferno. “It won’t last long, I just want to hasten the drying process. Try to sleep,” Caleb says, sitting cross-legged beside the coat as Fjord lays down on it. 

“Cold,” Fjord complains, curled on the jacket’s lining.

“That happens when you take your only protection off in the middle of a blizzard,” Caleb chides, turning said cloak over beside the flames. It winks out and Caleb curses softly. He rummages through the belt pouch beside his spellbook, coming back with a small phial of red powder. With a gesture, the bottle sparks and its contents turn to ash as another pillar of flame erupts on the same scorched patch of rock as the previous one. “This is the best I can do for tonight.”

“Lay down with me,” Fjord says, looking up at Caleb.

He looks back, eyebrow quirked. “Your sentences are getting longer, that’s a good sign.”

“Don’t make a dying man beg,” Fjord tries, arms crossed right across his chest.

“If you’re doing better so soon, I doubt you’ll die tonight,” Caleb says, but he sounds relieved, some of the tension leaving his face. He squeezes out the water from Fjord’s pants and shirt before dropping them flat on the ground away from the fire. He stands to pick the cloak up and give it a quick pat down, checking for dampness. It seems like it’s up to his standards since he tosses it over Fjord. It’s a welcome, heavy warmth, but he still looks up at Caleb expectantly. Caleb sighs, “All right.”

Fjord smiles, lifting the cloak for him to get under it with him. He’s notably warmer than Fjord feels, and he flinches when Fjord plasters himself to his side. Fjord pulls him in closer, “You’re warm.”

“I’m not the one who sat in a snowbank without a jacket,” Caleb sighs. He rolls onto his side, letting Fjord stick to his back. “I... thank you, for lending me your cloak. I do not know if I could have completed the ritual without it.”

“That’s why I gave it to you. You should’ve kept your rock, though.”

“You would have died without it,” Caleb says, and it’s matter-of-fact despite the poorly disguised, haunted tone. 

Fjord shivers hard, and he almost wishes he’d stayed numb because now everything hurts. “You kept us alive.”

“I almost got us both killed,” Caleb says, still facing away from him.

Fjord sighs, pressing his forehead to the nape of Caleb’s neck. “We don’t know if camp really is at the bottom of this cliff or not, Caleb. We could be warm and safe with Caduceus making us mushroom stew right now.”

“Fjord, you saw me stumbling through the ritual. I don’t know if I could have cast Feather Fall in time. Even if I had been right, even if I planned it out perfectly, I may still have fucked it up.”

Fjord stays silent a moment, wrapping his arms around Caleb’s chest in an attempt to make the painful tingling in them stop. “Well. We’re here now. Alive. Warming up. We’ll find them all in the morning.”

“Fjord,” Caleb says, then pauses. He doesn’t say anything for long enough that Fjord wonders if he might have nodded off, then he continues, “I was wrong.”

“We don’t know that yet.”

“Not about the cliff,” Caleb says, putting his hands over Fjord’s, pressing them to his chest. “The things I said to you. I was wrong. You are a capable leader, you did right by us when it mattered. Those words were deliberately unkind.”

“Caleb...”

“I mean it. I said those things because I knew... I knew that they would hurt you. I knew it would make you stop questioning me. I _thought_ it would make you stop. So I was wrong then, too.”

“I meant what I said, back in the Diver’s Grave,” Fjord murmurs, pressing his chest fully against Caleb’s back. “I’m always going to return the favor. You saved my life in Shadycreek Run. Saved my life now.”

“That doesn’t excuse-“ Caleb starts, but falls silent. “Get some sleep, Fjord.”

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, cliffhanger.


End file.
